


Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

by felisblanco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Genderfuck, M/M, Other, fic 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-18
Updated: 2007-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Seriously, Sam, what the hell?  When did you turn into a thirteen year old girl?”</i></p><p><i>For a moment it looks like Sam’s struggling but then he sticks up his chin and glares at Dean with a look that hasn’t been seen in over a decade. “About five minutes ago,” he snaps and proceeds to cross his arms and glare out the window. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://batoutofkansas.livejournal.com/profile)[**batoutofkansas**](http://batoutofkansas.livejournal.com/). Prompt used: _“You were licking your lips/and your lipstick shining./I was dying just to ask for a taste.”_  
>  Gender… not really swap. More of a gender mindfuck. And age mindfuck. And an excessive use of pink. I guess you’d call it crack. Except this could so happen. *nods*  
> Beta’d by the wonderful [](http://winchesterxgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**winchesterxgirl**](http://winchesterxgirl.livejournal.com/). Encouraged by my flist so blame them. Title taken from the song by The Smiths. Takes place sometime during season 1.

You’d think there be a clear sign of whatever the fuck made it happen. Like a pink mist floating through the air or a unicorn running across the road. Some stupid shit like that.

Instead it’s just an ordinary day in an ordinary town and Dean’s licking spilled coffee from the back of his hand as he holds the other cup out to Sam, hissing, “Dude, wake up and take your fricking pansy-ass mocha vanilla girly latte before I drop it in your lap, godammit!” when Sam looks over at him and says, “You shouldn’t swear so much. It’s not nice.” And then his eyes go wide as Dean stares at him with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Sam opens his mouth but seems to freeze and his lips slope into a pout instead. Dean contemplates smacking him across the back of his head but both his hands are pretty occupied with this goddamn coffee that’s starting to burn its way through the thin paper cups and zing his palms.

“Whatever. Just take your damn coffee and let’s get out of here. What kind of fucking diner doesn’t even have donuts? I swear…”

Sam swats at his hand, almost making him drop the damn thing just where he’d threatened moments ago. Would have served him right, the prissy little bitch.

“I don’t want it. I want a cherry soda.”

Huh? “Seriously, Sam, what the hell? When did you turn into a thirteen year old girl?”

For a moment it looks like Sam’s struggling but then he sticks up his chin and glares at Dean with a look that hasn’t been seen in over a decade. “About five minutes ago,” he snaps and proceeds to cross his arms and glare out the window.

Dean rolls his eyes and is about to say, “You sure it’s that recent?” but something about the way Sam’s lip is wobbling, and his eyes are glittering with unshed tears makes him pause and frown. “Sam?”

“I’m all tall and stupid and ugly,” Sam says between clenched teeth, fingers curling into fists. “It’s not fair!”

Ok, this is starting to get really disturbing. Dean takes a last sip of his own coffee then remorsefully chucks both cups out the window and starts the car. “I’m finding us a motel room and then you’re gonna tell me what the hell this is about, Sam. You hear me?”

“Stop yelling at me!” Sam pulls up his legs and wraps his long arms around them. “I hate it when you yell at me. You’re a mean poop head.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Come again?”

“You! You’re always so mean. You’re always making fun of me and calling me stupid names.”

“Well, right back at ya,” Dean says lamely because seriously, what the hell? “Dude, calm down. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know!” Sam closes his eyes and leans back, his jaw tight. “Fuck, man. We’ve gotta fix this. I can’t-“ His voice cuts off and then his lip starts wobbling again. “Stop looking at me!”

“I’m not looking! Jeez!”

Dean sighs in relief when he sees the neon sign of this shitty little town’s only motel as he comes around the corner. He swings into the parking lot, coming to an abrupt halt with a squeal of the wheels. “Just… wait here while I get us a room.”

“Stop ordering me about!” Sam yells and Dean instantly bites back, “Stop behaving like a little bitch!”

Sam stares at him and then he bursts into tears and seriously, a guy can only take so much.

“Jesus Christ!”

Dean gets out of the car and slams the door shut. Now granted Sam is an emo bitch on the best of days but this… this is ridiculous. Dean stalks across the lot to the reception, wondering if maybe he should take an hour detour to grab a beer, leaving Sam in the car to cool off. Better not risk it. The mood Sam is in he might key his baby or something worse.

The spotty faced kid behind the desk makes the tired old gay joke and for once Dean really can’t blame him as he follows his glance out the window. Sam has of course not stayed in the car but is pacing angrily beside it, arms crossed defiantly and lips again tugged into a pout. Dean groans in embarrassment as he watches Sam briefly stop to check his reflection in the side mirror, tugging his long hair behind his ears before his face crumbles again and he wipes angrily at his eyes with the tip of his fingers.

“You were saying?” The kid is looking at Dean with a smirk and Dean tries to remember what state they’re in at the moment. Does this one carry the death penalty?

“Mind your own goddamn business and give me a room with two queens!”

“Two queens it is,” the kid snorts, somehow making it sound like he’s not talking about the beds at all and Dean shoots him another glare. He wants to tell the little shit that they’re brothers but really, right now, he’s not sure he wants anyone to know that they’re related. At all. Instead he grabs the key and walks out, slamming the door behind him. When he gets to the car he grabs their bags out of the trunk and throws one wordlessly at Sam before stalking to their room, not waiting for Sam to follow.

“Are you mad at me? Dean!”

Dean doesn’t answer, just waits impatiently until Sam is through the door before slamming that one as well and pushing Sam toward one of the beds. “Sit down. Now!”

Sam’s lip starts wobbling again but he doesn’t argue, just scoots up on the bed and folds his long legs underneath him.

“Ok, spill. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I told you!”

Dean quirks his eyebrow. “Uh… no. You didn’t. Unless you mean whining about being tall and ugly, which isn’t exactly news, princess, so why the hell are you crying about that now? And, dude, seriously, turn off the waterworks.”

Sam looks stricken; hurt and disbelief glittering in his eyes. “Why do you always have to be so…? I’m a _girl_ , Dean! That’s what’s wrong! And I think I’m about twelve or thirteen and if you don’t stop staring at me like that I’m gonna kick you in the balls, you freaking pervert.” He tugs down his t-shirt and gives Dean a glare, half disgusted, half freaked out.

Dean stares at him for what seems like an eternity before quietly asking, “Christo?”

Sam’s breath hitches and he wipes angrily at his eyes. “I’m not possessed! I’m a girl! And…” Sam looks down, voice breaking. “You really think I’m ugly?”

Dude, what? “Ok, this has gone far enough. I know I tease you about being…” Dean tries to find a word that won’t start Sam crying again. “… pansy.”

Judging by the glare Sam is giving him that wasn’t quite the right one.

“I mean, yes, you’re sometimes a bit too Village People but you’re not a girl. Ok? Because I know girls and you’re definitely not one. You’ve got no… you know….” Dean makes a lame cupping motion with his hands that has Sam huffing. “… and you haven’t even shaved since yesterday and I’m pretty sure that’s not a gun in your pocket because you always keep yours down the back. Which, frankly? Not the smartest move, Sam. What if it goes off and… Anyway, what I’m trying to say is you’re a guy, Sam. You look exactly the same as always!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I know I don’t look like a girl. I’m still Sam, you di- nincompoop. I’ve just got… I feel like one, ok? I don’t know how else to explain it. In my head I feel like a thirteen year old girl.”

“How would you know how a thirteen year old girl feels, Sam?”

“I don’t! I just know I am one.”

Dean stares at him, exasperated. It’s been a while since he’s had to handle thirteen-year-old girls and they were never like this. Not this… well, big for one. And male. And his brother. The whole thing is making his head spin.

“Like, you wanna play with Barbies and have slumber parties? I can’t see how much different that’s from how you usually are.”

“Funny. And seriously, Dean, Barbies?” Sam giggles, a sound that’s almost more disturbing than the whole thirteen-year-old thing. “Yeah, right.” He licks his lips and tilts his head coquettishly. “If by Barbies you mean boys and by slumber parties you mean making out, then yes, that’s exactly what thirteen year old girls think about.”

“Oh God. Stop talking.” Dean sits heavily down on the other bed, running a sweaty palm over his face. “You’re really not kidding about this?”

“I’m really not. I wish I was because… being thirteen again sucks!” Sam pouts and for what it’s worth it really does make him look like a teenage girl. Well, neck up. If Dean ignores the stubble and the big nose and… well, Sam.

“Yes, that’s the sucky part here. Sam, you’re a fucking girl!” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“Well, for one thing you can stop swearing so much. It’s not nice.” Sam scowls when Dean gives him the finger instead. “I mean it! And…”

He stops, eyebrows knotting in confusion and then his eyes go wide. “I gotta pee!”

He jumps off the bed and runs into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. Dean stares at the door in shock. He jerks awake when a loud shriek can be heard from the other side and he’s at the door, tugging at the doorknob, within seconds.

“Sam? What’s wrong? Open up!”

“I’m ok. Go away,” comes Sam’s muffled voice from behind the door. He sounds like he’s about to start crying again.

“Sam, I swear, if you don’t let me in I’ll break down the goddamn door.”

“I’m ok! I just…” There’s a slight pause and when Sam continues his voice is strangled with embarrassment. “I forgot I had a… boy thing. I got a bit freaked. Now leave me alone!!”

Dean stares at the door. “You forgot you had a dick?”

“If you laugh I swear I will rip yours off!”

“Not laughing! I’m not laughing!”

Later, when this whole thing is over and Sam is back to normal he knows he will laugh. And mock and tease and never ever let Sam forget the time he was a thirteen year old girl. But right now Dean is too damn freaked to find anything about this situation remotely amusing.

Instead he goes and lies down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, frantically going over the last few days in his head. Did they piss anyone off? Unknowingly awaken a teenage spirit and allow her to take over Sam’s body? But he hadn’t even flinched at the word Christo. What else? A spell of some sort? But who could have…?

That girl at the bar two nights ago, who’d kept flirting with an oblivious Sam the whole time they were there? In the end Dean had felt so embarrassed for his brother he’d winked the girl and shaken his head apologetically, mouthing the word ‘gay’ as he discreetly jerked his thumb at Sam. She had blushed but she hadn’t seemed pissed off, just the opposite actually if her smile and ‘Aren’t you two cute?’ was anything to go by.

The implication made Dean frown then as it does now, and he turns his head briefly to glance at his reflection in the big mirror by the door. Why do people keep thinking he’s gay? He’s the manliest man he knows – well, aside from his dad and maybe Bobby – and according to Sam he has the fashion sense of a lumberjack. Seriously, they don’t come more macho than that, Monty Python whatever. And everyone knows gay men talk more Prada then girls. The only reason Dean even knows about Prada is that Oprah has these seasonal fashion talks…

“Hey.”

Dean jerks awake from his musings and turns to look at Sam who’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom, nervously tugging at his hair and biting his lip. Taking a deep breath Dean sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. However much this is freaking him out it’s nothing compared to what Sam must be feeling.

“You ok?”

“No.” Sam pushes away from the door and walks over to sit on the other bed, opposite him. “Dean, this… we gotta fix this. I mean, I look like me and I still got all my memories and stuff but I feel…” His lip starts wobbling again but he clenches his jaw and forces it to stop. “Like I’m all over the place. Mood swings and insecurities and…”

He looks up at Dean, panic in his eyes. “I really like pink.”

Dean scratches his head, fumbling for words. “Well, Pink’s cool. I mean, sure she has a teengirl fanbase, but she also did that really hot lesbian song-”

“I meant the color.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks then shrugs and purses his lips in thought. “What kind of pink? Because pale pink is like really gay but hot pink…” He grimaces.

“Hot pink.” Sam nods enthusiastically. “Definitely hot pink.” His eyes glaze over dreamily. “I really want a pink cell phone.”

“Yeah, you’re a girl. No doubt about it.” Dean gives Sam’s hopeful face a stern look. “And no, you’re not getting a pink cell, Sam.”

“Meanie.” Sam pouts and scoots up on the bed until he’s sitting Indian style, plucking at the sole of his shoes. “I bet Dad would have-“

“Dream on. If you’d really been a girl Dad most likely would have left you with mom’s family after she died. He’d had no idea how to raise a girl.”

Sam stares at him in shock and then he gets up and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

Oh hell.

“Sam!”

Dean scurries off the bed, grabbing their jackets and the keys before hurrying after his brother. It takes him a moment to locate Sam but then he spots him sitting at a small picnic table on the other side of the parking lot. He doesn’t move when Dean comes closer, even if the gravel crunching under his boots is a dead giveaway. Dean stops behind him, then drapes Sam’s jacket over his shoulders and pats them awkwardly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, Sam, I’m just frustrated.”

“You’re right.” There’s a hitch in Sam’s breath but he doesn’t look back. “I bet he would have left me.”

“No, Sam, ‘course not. C’mon, dude, not a way in hell he would have left you anywhere, whether you’d been a girl or not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Sam’s voice sounds so small and doubtful and Dean suddenly remembers what it was like, being thirteen and confused and thinking no one cared or could understand what it felt like. He’d worked hard to make sure Sam never had to feel like that when he reached that stage, to let him know he was not alone, ever. Seems like this time around he’s screwing it all up.

Again he puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and squeezes them tight, trying to bring Sam’s old confidence back, one way or the other. “Because I never would have let him.”

He can feel Sam trembling and then he’s turning on the narrow bench until he’s facing Dean. He wraps his long arms around Dean’s waist, buries his face into his t-shirt and starts crying heavy sobs, shoulders shaking.

“You’re the be-est brother e-ever, Dean. I love you so-o much.”

Uhm. Okay. Awkward.

“Dude. C’mon. Sam?”

“Sorry. Sorry. I can’t…” Sam sucks in his breath but then he just continues sobbing. “I can’t he-elp it.”

There are two girls walking along the road. Or they were walking, now they’re just standing there, watching the display with a mixed look of surprise and amusement. Dean gives them a nod and an awkward smile as he tries to pry Sam’s arms away from his waist. No luck.

“Dude! Seriously!” he hisses, but Sam is like a giant octopus, clinging to him with far more strength than a teenage girl would ever have. In the end Dean gives in with a sigh and just allows Sam to cry his due, running his fingers through Sam’s hair as he mutters, “Sshh, there, there. Everything’s gonna be alright, I promise,” and hopes that those pictures the girls are taking with their phones never make their way to the internet.

Finally Sam pulls back, eyes red and puffy, snot running down from his nose, and Dean rummages in his jacket for the napkins he snagged from the last diner.

“Here, clean up. You look like-” He stops himself at the last minute. “Let’s get you pretty again, ok?”

“Ok,” Sam sniffles and blows his nose. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You need to cry? You just cry, man. Just… let it out.” Dean nods lamely and tries to look supportive even if he feels completely at loss. “That’s what big brother’s are for, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam crumbles the wad of paper in his hand and throws it in the garbage can before gazing at Dean with his saddest puppy eyes. “Can we go buy ice cream? Please? Ice cream always makes me feel better.”

“Dude, that is so…” Sam tilts his head and sniffles pitifully and Dean finds himself nodding in defeat. “Yeah, sure. C’mon, kiddo, lets have a big chocolate sundae. My treat.”

The big smile on Sam’s face is definitely worth being whipped for.

Sam keeps quiet on the drive over to the ice cream shop and if it wasn’t for the way he keeps studying his nails and checking his reflection in the side mirror Dean might have thought the whole girl phase was over.

Being a small town, the shop sells everything from ice cream and hot dogs to plaid shirts and rubber boots. Dean picks up a couple of sodas and some beef jerky and a bag of snacks before heading for the counter. He pays for his purchases and then nods toward the ice cream machine.

“That work?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Sam?”

He turns around to ask Sam what he’d like but Sam isn’t there. With horror Dean spots him by the magazine rack, flipping through what looks suspiciously much like Teen!People.

“Sam!”

Sam pretends he doesn’t hear him but pulls down a copy of Cosmo and skims through it with wide eyes.

“Sam!”

Offering the clerk an apologetic smile he stalks over to Sam and rips the magazines out of his hands. “Dude, can you at least try and behave like the twenty three year old man you are? Seriously! You’re making me look bad.”

“Dean! I was reading that!” Sam blows a pink bubble and it snaps, covering the tip of his nose. “Give it back!”

“No. And where did you get that gum? Did you steal it?”

“No! I just…” Sam’s eyes shift. “…haven’t paid for it yet.”

“So you’re not just an annoying teenage girl, you’re a klepto as well?” Dean rolls his eyes. “Great, you’re Dawn.” He sticks out his palm. “Give it here. Now!”

“Ok, ok. Whatever.” Sam spits a gigantic bundle of pink bubble gum into Dean’s palm and he wraps it up in one of the napkins with a grimace. “And just so you know, if I were Dawn you’d be Buffy and no offense but… in your dreams, Dean.”

Dean grits his teeth and shoves the magazines back into the rack. “Ok, that’s it. You? No ice cream.”

“What!?! No! Dean! I was gonna pay for it, I swear.” Sam pulls on Dean’s arm and gives him his best puppy eyes look but Dean just shakes his head and turns to stalk out of the store.

“Dean! C’mon! You’re just being mean. Mean-Dean. Don’t… I’m telling mom!”

Dean freezes with his hand on the door and he turns slowly around, staring at Sam in disbelief. “What did you say?”

“I said-” Sam stops and then his eyes suddenly widen in shock. “Oh God. Dean…” He reaches out but Dean shakes him off.

“I can’t do this.” He pushes open the door and storms out, not waiting to see if Sam will follow him. He gets into the car and turns the key, not even glancing at Sam as he slides into the passenger seat, eyes cast downwards.

“I’m sorry. Dean? I don’t know why I said that.”

“Little Susie Q messing with your brain, Sam. Not your fault.” He tries to sound like it doesn’t matter but the big lump in his throat makes his voice come out flat and cold.

“I guess. I’m still sorry.” Sam bites his lip and glances over at Dean. “We need to get rid of her… this, whatever this is.”

Dean nods curtly. “You recall seeing anything in Dad’s journal that fits this?”

Sam shakes his head. “No. Witches are known for genderswap and age spells but both of those make the body change as well, not just the mind. Dean…” he pleads but Dean won’t have it.

“We better hit the library then,” he cuts Sam off and the car spits up gravel as he speeds out of the parking lot.

Three hours later he slams shut the last book with an irritated scowl and looks over at Sam who’s still tapping enthusiastically away on the laptop, only stopping every now and then to write something down in his note book. With a big, pink, glittery, feather-sprouting pen. What the…?

Dean opens his mouth to ask Sam where the hell he picked up that thing but changes his mind and sighs instead. No doubt he stole it from the store. Along with the Hello Kitty stickers now adorning the poor laptop. Great. Dean wonders if the girl in his brother’s brain actually is a thief, or if Sam’s life spent with credit card scams and other less than legal activities have somehow corrupted her into thinking stealing of any kind is just fine and dandy.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again Sam is carefully putting on pink lip-gloss, smacking his lips before running the tip of his tongue over them. Satisfied with the result he puts the gloss back in his pocket and turns back to the laptop, leaving the air smelling faintly of strawberry.

Dean blinks. That’s… He shifts in his seat and swallows. _Get a grip, man. He’s not a girl. He’s not really a girl. He’s your very male, very straight brother. Brother! And you should put a stop to this before Sam embarrasses himself even further._

He is just about to clear his throat when Sam grins and then laughs softly before typing something again, a wicked smile tugging at his pink lips. Huh.

Dean slowly stands up and walks over to him. “Any luck?”

Sam starts and hits the keys frantically but not before Dean gets a good look at what he’s doing.

“You’re chatting on AIM? Sam!”

“No! I was just…” He tries to close the computer but Dean snags it from him and reopens the window. The screen reads:

 _WannaBBritn: For reals! U shold c my bro. Hes rly hawt  
Justin<3Me: Not as hot as Orli, rite?  
WannaBBritn: No1s as hawt as Orli! _

Dean blinks and looks at Sam who’s blushing and doodling what looks like a unicorn in his notebook. “Dude, what the hell?”

Sam kicks the table and twists his pink lips into a scowl. “It’s private! You’ve got no right!”

“Like hell I have. Who the fuck is this? Who are you talking to?”

“I don’t know. Some girl.” Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Who cares?”

Dean rubs his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on. “For all you know it’s Chester the Molester trying to get into your pants. Jesus, Sam!”

“Aw, c’mon, Dean. Chill. We’re just chatting!”

“About guys? Sam, you do remember you’re not actually a girl, right?” He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. “You’re wearing lip gloss, for Christ’s sake! Which I hope to God you stole because like hell I’m going into that store again if you paid for it.”

Sam just stares at him indignantly, lips pursed thin. If anything it makes the lip gloss shine even brighter. Dean bites down a groan and looks at the screen again. It takes him a moment to decipher the cryptic message and when he does his eyes widen.

“Seriously, Orlando Bloom? Dude, I’m way hotter than him!”

Sam blushes deep red at that and rolls his eyes. “You wish!”

“Wishing has nothing to do with it, man.” He types a quick, _‘Get lost, asshole,’_ and closes the window before leaning back in his chair, legs spread in a sprawl. “Orlando couldn’t get half the pussy I get,” he then adds with a smirk, cupping his crotch for good measure.

“Eeww!” Sam scoots back his chair, face contorted in disgust. “You’re so gross! I bet Orli _never_ calls girls pussy.”

“Yeah? Maybe because he _is one!_ ” Dean shoots back. Man, this is fun. He hasn’t been able to rile his brother like this for… well, a decade.

“Not true! Shut up, Dean!”

“ _You_ shut up, Sally!”

“Either you boys keep it down or you have to leave.”

Dean jumps and looks up to find a somewhat amused librarian giving them a stern look.

“People are trying to read, you know,” she adds, glancing at Sam with a fond twinkle in her eye.

“I apologize, miss. We’ll be good, I promise. Right, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles, refusing to look up. “Sorry.”

Dean flashes her his most charming smile. She’s in her early twenties, wearing flip-flops, a denim skirt and a tight t-shirt that says _‘Librarians do it by the book’_. His kind of geek.

“You have to excuse my brother. Not only is he loud but he’s got horrible taste. Help us out here.” He flutters his eyelashes for good measure. “Me or Orlando Bloom? Whatya say?”

She bites back a smile and looks him thoughtfully over before shaking her head. “Sorry. I’ll have to go with your brother. Orlando all the way.”

“What!” Dean stares at her incredulous. “You can’t be serious. Why the hell?”

She leans forward and whispers just loud enough for both of them to hear. “Because Orli would never call girls pussies.”

“Ha! I told you!” Sam exclaims in triumph and Dean scowls.

“Yeah, sure. You girls always stick together.”

She just smiles and then she unhooks a button from her t-shirt and hands it to Sam. “Here you go. Now play nice, ok?”

Sam beams up at her. “Ok.”

She winks at him and walks back to her desk, shoulders shaking with laughter. Sam sticks out his tongue at Dean before looking down at the button in his hand. It’s got a picture of Harry Potter swinging his wand and the text reads, _‘The library is where magic happens!’_

Sam frowns. “Why did she give me this?”

“Probably because she thinks you’re retarded. Oh, excuse me,” Dean adds hastily at Sam’s outraged expression and raises his hands in mock apology, “I meant ‘mentally challenged.’”

“I’m not-!” Sam glances at the librarian who’s eyeing him disapprovingly again and lowers his voice to a hiss. “I’m not mentally challenged! I went to Stanford! I’m smarter than you and I bet I’m smarter than her.” He gets up and snaps the laptop shut. “I’m gonna go over there and tell her.”

Dean grabs his arm at the last minute, hauling him back. “Oh no, you won’t. We might need her help with something later and I don’t want her thinking us even weirder than she thinks already.”

“She thinks I’m stupid!”

“Not stupid, Sam.” Dean pulls Sam down to sit beside him and ruffles his hair with patronizing affection. “Just a bit slow.”

“It’s not funny!” Sam’s lip wobbles and he bites down on it. “Why are you always so mean? I hate you.”

“Jeez! I’m not…” Dean stops. Is that genuine hurt in Sam’s eyes? “Sammy? C’mon, you know I’m just kidding.”

Sam shrugs but won’t look his way and Dean wonders how much of that hurt is from the thirteen-year-old’s insecurities and how much is Sam’s own buried feelings.

“Sam, dude… You really think I’m mean to you on purpose?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sam gnaws at his lower lip, smearing pink lip gloss on his teeth. “You called me selfish. And… and you make fun of me for being so tall. It’s not like I asked to be like this, you know. Everyone thinks I’m a freak. You said so yourself. _You_ said I was a freak.”

Damn. On a normal day he’d roll his eyes and tell Sam to grow up and stop being such a baby. But nothing about this day is normal and he’s beginning to suspect Sam is closer to being the thirteen-year-old girl than he is to being himself. And Dean’s never been the kind of guy that belittles children and their feelings, even if they’re six feet four and can grow a beard.

“Sam, I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, you’re freakishly tall but it’s cool. Chicks dig that. They like a man that towers over them. Makes them feel secure or something.”

Sam glances at him, tugging at his sleeves as he unconsciously sits up straighter. “How ‘bout you?”

Dean frowns. “How ‘bout me what?”

“Do you like that I’m taller than you?”

Dean’s not quite sure what to say. ‘No’ will probably get Sam sulking again but seriously, who likes their younger brother towering over them? It’s not fair, that’s what it is, and Dean is sure it has something to do with all the extra bowls of Lucky Charms that Sam got while Dean settled for dry toast. But Sam is looking at him with those exact same eyes that always got him that extra bowl and thirteen or twenty-three, there’s no way Dean can hurt that kid’s feelings.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Sam.” He reaches over and pushes Sam’s long bangs out of his face and behind his ears. “I’ve kinda gotten used to the whole Sasquatch thing you’ve got going for you there.”

“Yeah?” Sam blushes and ducks his head, his dimples deep in his cheeks as he tries to hide how pleased he is. “And I’m not… I’m not ugly?”

Dean shakes his head, grinning. He’s gonna have a field day with this once his brother is back to normal. “Sammy, you’re my brother. There’s no way in Hell you could be ugly. It’s in the genes, man. Us Winchesters, we’re all handsome devils.” He smirks. “Some more than others.”

Sam giggles. Honest to God giggles and Dean doesn’t know whether to slam a hand over Sam’s mouth to shut him up or break into giggles right along with him because this whole situation is so goddamn ridiculous he feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

“You laughing at me, kiddo? You saying I’m not the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen?” he jokes and tries to look affronted. “And don’t give me that Orlando crap. The guy was an elf for God’s sake. How gay is that?”

Sam laughs out loud at that and Dean beams with pride. No one could ever turn Sam’s emo around faster than him. “Seriously, Sam, it’s super-gay.”

“ _You’re_ gay,” Sam snorts and shoves him playfully.

“No, _you_ are,” Dean mocks back and shoves Sam almost hard enough that he falls off his chair.

“No, _you_.”

Thirteen year old or not, Sam carries enough weight to make Dean fall down hard as he’s tackled and he lands on his back with a giggling Sam on top, tickling him with the feathery end of his pink pen. And really, there’s no way that should make him think of that stripper with the feather boa he met in Vegas once.

“Stop it!” he yelps, while trying _not_ to join the giggling, which is damn hard considering Sam knows all his most ticklish spots, grabbing at them with his long fingers while he brushes the feathers across Dean’s nose. “Get off me!”

“Stop saying I’m gay!” Sam shoots back and shrieks when Dean finally manages to roll them over and straddle Sam, desperately fighting away those tickling hands.

“Dude, I’m not the one with a thirteen year old girl inside me,” Dean laughs when he locks his fingers around Sam’s wrists and pins him down. Sam bucks and nearly has Dean flying but he’s done a round or two on a mechanic bull and his brother has nothing on that thing.

“You make it sound like I ate her, you dumbass,” Sam puffs and tries to wriggle away instead. His knees are bent, pushing up against Dean’s back and… Ok, definitely not a girl. Whoa!

Moving forward so his ass is resting on Sam’s stomach instead, Dean swallows and fakes a grin. “With your appetite I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Boys!”

They both freeze and Dean slowly turns his head to smile hesitantly up at the librarian, who is shaking her head in disappointment.

“That’s it. You’re out of here.”

“Aaww, c’mon. We’re just playing.”

“Well, this is a library, not a playground. That one you can find outside.”

Dean really can’t argue with that. He gets up and helps Sam to his feet. “Sorry. We were leaving anyway.”

Sam scoops up the laptop and puts it in his bag. The button falls to the floor and he reaches down to pick it up, standing still for a moment before turning to the woman with an annoyed glare.

“You know what, I’m not stupid. Or retarded.” He shoves the button back into her hand, ignoring her startled look. “I went to Stanford and I would have graduated top of my class if it hadn’t been for…”

He falters and looks away, eyes shimmering with tears, then runs out of the library, leaving Dean and the librarian to stare after him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Is he gonna be alright?”

Dean gives her a brief smile. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. He’s just…”

How to explain that his brother isn’t usually like this? That on a normal day he would be the smartest, most levelheaded guy she’d ever meet.

“It’s been hard,” he finally says for lack of a better explanation and her eyes go soft.

“I had a friend in college who… Well, he had an accident. He’ll never be the same but he’s happy, you know? That’s what’s most important, right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry, I have to go.” He offers her another smile and hurries after Sam, finding him eventually sitting on the steps outside, biting his lips and tugging at a loose thread in his right sock. “Hey.”

Sam looks up. His eyes are red and puffy and his cheeks are flushed. “Is she mad?”

“No.” Dean sits down beside him. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Sam sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “I’m hungry.”

“Ok.” Dean pats Sam’s knee and stands up, offering him a hand. “Let’s find something to eat.”

“Pancakes?” Sam asks hopefully as he allows Dean to pull him up and for a moment Dean is tempted to actually let Sam eat all the things his twenty three year old self would balk at, being the health freak that he is.

“Burgers. And a salad. But if you’re good we can have pancakes later.”

“Ok.”

There’s an embarrassing incident where Dean has to explain that his brother is not a pervert, he just walked into the ladies room by accident, being brain damaged and all. And then he’s nursing a sore arm the next half hour from where Sam punched him. Other than that they have a surprisingly nice time eating dinner.

Thirteen-year-old girl!Sam is all smiles and giggles and it’s such a refreshing break from the regular emo!Sam, Dean doesn’t even mind that he has to listen to his starry-eyed brother explaining how Justin Timberlake is like the second coming or waxing poetically about the epic love affair of some people named Seth and Summer who Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the identities of. The waitresses quickly forgive Sam the whole bathroom incident when they overhear their conversation and Dean finds himself suddenly shoved into the corner of the booth, warily listening to three girls and Sam gossip about Hollywood’s hottest in a way that makes him want to cover Sam’s ears. Are thirteen-year-olds really supposed to know about the G-spot?

As the evening progresses more and more people wander into the diner and the waitresses reluctantly leave the boys to let them eat their complimentary dessert of blueberry pancakes with ice cream in peace. Sam eats with the same enthusiasm he used to show as a kid, and Dean finds it such a relief from Sam’s usual poking and shoving the food around on his plate, hardly letting anything with more than a couple of calories pass his lips. Part of it is Sam’s Stanford health-freak style but most of it is just Sam, listless to the point of starving himself no matter how much Dean tries to get him to eat properly. Again Dean can’t help thinking that Sam being a little girl is not the worst thing that’s happened to them, in fact he wouldn’t mind it for a few more days if it means putting some meat on Sam’s bones and exchanging the wrinkles of grief with the fine crowfeet that now appear at the corner of his eyes every time he laughs happily.

Dean tilts his head and smiles softly as he studies the boy sitting across from him. Sam’s got ice cream and chocolate fudge smudged at the corner of his mouth. His fingertips are smeared with chocolate as well and every time he swipes at the wisps of hair falling into his eyes, they leave sticky fingerprints at his temple. His teeth shine white with every wide smile and he keeps glancing at Dean with such happiness that it makes his stomach clench. He can’t remember the last time Sam looked this happy and relaxed and his heart aches with realization that when they get this curse or spell or whatever it is to lift, Sam will once again be burdened with his adult grief and guilt.

“What?” Sam frowns in confusion and Dean quickly hides whatever feelings he must have been showing behind an amused smirk.

“Think maybe you should go and freshen up a little, princess. Don’t think brown is quite your color.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he licks his lips before wiping them with his napkin. It comes away smeared with chocolate and his nose scrunches adorably. “My fingers are all sticky too.” He slips out of the booth and heads for the restrooms, thankfully the right one this time.

Dean leans back and sips the last of his coffee. He feels relaxed and sated, stomach filled to the brim with food, and the sugar and coffee is buzzing pleasantly through his veins. Maybe, when this whole thing is over, he can convince Sam to put on the innocent girl act every now and then, just to see if they can get free desserts again.

His eyes slide to Sam’s notebook lying on the table and he reaches for it, not really sure why. The pink glittery pen is clipped to the edge and Dean can’t help grinning. He’s going to give Sam such grief about this whole thing once he’s back to normal. This is gold mock material. For years!

He flips the book open, skimming through the pages lazily. There are the normal notes about various demons and other things they’ve encountered and he reads Sam’s neat handwriting, adding a few notes of his own where he feels it’s needed. Every now and then he comes upon doodles in the margins, mostly various variations of Jessica’s name.

Dean swallows and runs his fingers lightly over the imprinted letters. Sam’s grief, he feels, is like a wall between them, the one thing that Sam won’t let him in on. Sam keeps it locked up in his heart and his nightmares and even saying Jessica’s name is almost more than he’s willing to share. So seeing it there, written so casually Dean’s sure Sam does it unconsciously, he feels like he’s invading Sam’s privacy on a far more intimate level than he has any right to.

He’s about to close the notebook and put it back when he comes upon the last written pages. The handwriting there is bigger, more childish and written in pink glittery ink. There are drawings of small butterflies and garish flowers, circling and intermitting just one word, written repeatedly all over the page. Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean. One of them is even encased by a stretched heart, the edges marked with broken lines as if it’s pulsating.

Dean stares down at the book in front of him. What the…?

“Here you go.”

Dean quickly slams the notebook shut before looking up to find one of the waitresses standing by the table, bag in her hand.

“Thought you boys would like some cookies to take with you,” she says with a smile and puts the bag on the table just as Sam comes out of the bathroom.

“Oh! Thank you!”

Sam smiles brightly, lips glimmering with newly applied strawberry lip-gloss, and Dean quickly looks away. He feels warm in his stomach and his heart is beating slightly too fast. _Dude, get a grip! It’s Sammy! So he likes writing your name in his little book. It doesn’t mean anything._

He throws the girl a smile and thanks her, his hands unsteady as he pulls out his wallet. He leaves enough money to cover the bill and a generous tip and casually hands Sam his notebook before grabbing his jacket and scooting out of the booth. “C’mon, Sammy. We better get going.”

It’s starting to get dark when they leave the diner, and Dean is just about to suggest they blow the rest of the night, spending it watching TV and just chilling, when he feels a big hand slip into his. His first instinct is to jerk away with an appalled “Dude!” but then he looks up at Sam and sees the nervous smile on his face. Uhuh.

“Sam? You alright there?”

“Yeah.” Sam squeezes his hand and leans closer. “This is nice.”

Dean blinks and follows Sam’s gaze. It’s a clear sky and the stars are starting to come out. “Yeah, I guess.” He glances down at their joined hands and then quirks his eyebrow at Sam. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Dean can see a blush tinting Sam’s cheeks and he has to admit it’s kinda cute. “I’m just happy you’re here. With me.”

“Uhm...” Damn. “Sam, you’re not…? We’re not on a date, you know?”

Sam’s smile vanishes and he snatches his hand away, then shoves both hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Forget it.”

Oh God. So it _is_ true. As if it isn’t enough to have a perverted thirteen-year-old kleptomanic girl on his hands, now he has to deal with Sam’s teenage crush as well? This just keeps getting better and better. Dean fights down the urge to head for the nearest bar to get really, really drunk and reaches out for Sam instead. “Sam?”

“Leave me alone,” Sam bites off and turns on his heels, heading for the motel. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock. Sam!” Dean jogs to catch up with him. Damn those freakishly long legs. “Hey, wait. Sam, c’mon. This isn’t really you. You have to remember who you are.”

“I know! I know I’m not really a girl and I know you… you…”

Dean grabs him by the elbow and turns him around. “I’m your brother, Sam. _Brother_ , ok? Which makes dating ten kinds of illegal, even if you do think you’re a girl. And dude, you think you’re thirteen. Thirteen! I’m not touching that with a ten feet pole!”

“Except I’m not really thirteen, dumbass,” Sam hisses. “I’m twenty three!”

“Well, you’re not acting like it, are you? One minute you’re all teenage-y and the next you’re… you’re…” He glares at Sam, taking in the flushed cheeks and the heat in his eyes and dammit, Sam’s not supposed to look at him like that! “You’re confusing the hell out of me!”

“You think _you’re_ confused?” Sam throws up his hands in frustration. “I look at you and I don’t see a brother, ok? I just see this really cute guy, who’s like my big hero or something and the girl in me can’t handle it, Dean. She’s walking on a pink cloud here. Seriously, man, you know how women react to you. She can’t help it!”

Big hero? “Well, _you_ can! You have to control it! Think of Orli or something!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, I was only saying that to make you jealous,” he snorts and then suddenly his eyes turn sly. “And it worked, didn’t it? You were jealous that I thought Orlando was hotter than you.”

What!?! “Hey! I wasn’t _jealous!_ I was _appalled_ that my brother has such a _horrible_ taste in _men_ but…” He stops abruptly at the smug look on Sam’s face. Damn. “Oh shut up!”

“Whatever.” Sam smirks. “At least I’m not creaming myself over some old guys with mullets.”

“Crea-! Wha-!” He knows he’s sputtering but come on! He’s entitled! “Dude!”

“What? It’s true. It’s always Hetfield this and Ozzy Osbourne that. And don’t think I haven’t heard you je- do stuff, while listening to _White Rabbit_ or that _Hot Blooded_ song. Just because my eyes are closed doesn’t mean I’m dead to the world, Dean.” He scrunches up his face in disgust. “You are really _loud_.”

Ok, this is way beyond Dean’s comfort level. He grabs Sam by the elbow and steers him toward the motel. “You were right, it’s bed time for little girls.”

“What? No! Dean! You’re not fair! Come on!”

“Save it, princess. You can’t have it both ways. You wanna be a little girl? Fine, be a little girl. But that means I’m in charge and I say this grown-up needs a break from your teenage drama.”

“You can’t make me! I’m not gonna sleep anyway. Dean!”

“Dude, I don’t care. You’re going to bed and that’s final!”

Standing over Sam, making sure he brushes his teeth and washes the lip-gloss off his face before grumpily slipping under the covers, brings back memories of much simpler times when putting Sam to bed used to be his favorite chore of the day. Once Sam was ready they’d snuggle up together under the blankets and Dean would either read Sam a story or just make something up, usually with himself and Sam as the heroes.

Nostalgia is not something Dean allows himself to indulge in often but glancing over at Sam’s scowling face staring up at the ceiling, he can’t help wishing they were back in that time, before Sam and Dad started fighting, before college and Jess. Before stupid ass teenage girl curses started messing with his head.

When Sam huffs for the fifth time, lips pursed tight with his jaw clenched so hard he’s in danger of pulverizing his teeth, Dean gives up and snaps the laptop shut. Not like he was having any luck researching this stupid thing anyway.

“Christ. Ok, ok, we can watch TV. Will you stop sulking then?”

Sam sits up, all smiles and dimples in an instant. “Ok, Dean!”

He scoots over to the edge and pats the vacated space beside him, hopeful eyes glancing at Dean who hesitates for a moment but hey, if they’re gonna share the snack anyway… He toes off his boots, grabs the bag of Doritos and two sodas and settles down with the remote in one hand, his socked feet stretched out in front of him.

They argue over what to watch, Dean flat-out refusing anything resembling a chick-flick and “Yes, Sam, that includes everything with Leonardo DiCaprio, I don’t fucking care if he gets to shoot stuff.”

Finally they settle on an episode of _Lost_ and even Dean has to admit some of the guys are kinda hot. Not as hot as the girls, obviously, but they’re not shit ass ugly or anything. You know, if he swung that way. Doesn’t mean Sam has to ooh and aah every time one of them throws the camera a smile though. If Dean has to hear “God, he’s so cute!” one more time he’s pulling the covers over Sam’s head and switching over to pay-per-view, delicate teenagers be damned.

The episode ends, once again without solving anything, and Dean is flipping from one station to another, dismissing infomercials and weather reports and reality shows, when he feels Sam shift beside him and suddenly he has a lap full of shaggy hair.

“Sam?”

The only answer he gets is a light snore and when he brushes some of the mop away he’s treated to the sight of Sam sleeping peacefully. Mouth slack, eyelashes dusting his flushed cheekbones, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s thigh. Dean sits still for a long time, just watching his Sammy sleeping. He can’t remember the last time Sam slept without a frown on his brow or a downward tip to his lips. If being a thirteen-year-old girl is what it takes to make his brother get some well-deserved rest then it really is worth all the drama.

Dean shuts off the TV and wriggles down until he’s flat on his back, Sam’s head resting on his chest. It’s not exactly comfortable, with Sam’s freakishly big brain weighing about a ton and a half, but for some reason he just doesn’t want to leave. Sam might wake up and freak when he remembers what’s happened. Then Dean will have to move over anyway to calm him down and really, it’s much easier if he’s already there.

Sam snuggles closer and slings one leg over Dean’s knee, a hand curling on his stomach. He’s too warm and too heavy and… Great, now he’s drooling on Dean’s favorite Metallica t-shirt. Dean sighs. The things he will do for his brother, it’s amazing really. It’s not like he’ll ever be able to fall asleep like thi-

\----------------

If there’s anything in the world more horrifying than waking up to your brother singing along to Celine Dion’s _My Heart Will Go On_ , Dean really doesn’t want to know. Groaning he buries his head in his pillow and tries to shut out the sound as well as the shame. It’s no good. Sam’s hitting those high notes like Whitney Houston on crack and not even a shot to the head would manage to block that out.

“Sammy! Shut! Up!”

“Oops, sorry. Did I wake you?”

Dean turns grumpily and cracks one eye open. Then wishes he hadn’t because it means he’s gonna have to carve it out. Preferably with a spoon. Anything to make what he’s staring at be erased from his brain forever.

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”

Sam gives him a smile and cocks his hip in such an obscene way he puts even Britney to shame. “You don’t mind, do you?” He looks down, running his hands down his chest. “It’s snug and it smells like you.”

“It’s snug because it’s two sizes too small, you freak. And it smells like me because it’s mine!” Dean sits up and rubs his face in exasperation and fatigue. “Seriously, Sam, only hookers and chicks on MTV knot the front like that. And… Are those my jeans?”

“Yeah. My clothes are all so baggy.” Sam turns and palms his ass. “These really show off my butt. They were a bit short though but I fixed that.”

“Huh?” Dean looks down blearily and then his eyes widen in shock. “You cut off my jeans? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, pardon me for not wanting to look like a total loser,” Sam huffs indignantly. “It’s bad enough that I had to shave, like _everywhere!_ We’re out of razorblades, by the way,” Sam complains before adding with a frown, “And I think I clogged the drain.”

“When you say ‘everywhere’…?” Dean closes his eyes and falls back down on the pillows. “No. Don’t tell me. I really, _really_ don’t want to know.”

“You’re such a redneck, Dean,” Sam snorts. “But whatever, fine. I won’t tell you.”

He props one foot up on the bed and starts painting the nails hot pink. Jesus! Did he empty the whole girl section of the store?

“We should pick up some wax strips for next time though. It’s gonna itch like hell when the hairs start growing out and really, you don’t want me scratching myself there. In public, I mean.”

“Oh God.” Dean grabs Sam’s pillow to cover his face. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

Are teenage girls really supposed to sound so evil?

Realizing he’s not going to get any more sleep with the image of Sam’s shaved groin in his head Dean throws the pillow in the general direction of Sam’s voice and sits up, ignoring his brother’s yelped “Hey!” He’s still wearing his jeans and the t-shirt he fell asleep in and they’re damp and warm with sweat. Yuck. Dean strips off the t-shirt and is starting to shimmy out of his pants when he hears a small gasp and looks up to find Sam staring at him, two red dots adorning his cheeks.

“Oh, you gotta be shitting me. Sam, stop ogling me!”

His brother quickly looks away, blush spreading up to his ears and down where the hollow of his throat disappears beneath the collar. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be. I can’t believe this,” Dean mutters as he pulls his jeans back up and stalks into the bathroom, yelling, “And keep out!” before slamming the door shut.

The seams of his jeans groan in complaint as he rips them off in one angry movement, boxer briefs following shortly after. This is just great. Great! Bet Sammy is sitting there on his bed right now, mouth gaping, eyes glazed over as he fantasizes about his own brother taking a shower! Seriously, how fucked up is that? It’s-

Sam’s razor lies on the small shower shelf, long hairs sticking to the blades. There are more hairs on the bottom of the shower. Fine, golden, straight hairs and coarser, curly ones. Dean stares at them until he can feel his own eyes glazing over, pictures of Sam stooping over to shave those hard-to-reach places popping up like his own private peep show in his head.

Unh…

No! Not going there. Not. Going. There.

Growling he turns on the shower and flushes the last remaining hairs down the drain before stepping under the stream of water. It’s only lukewarm after Sam’s prolonged grooming time – and of course there are hairs sticking to the soap as well, which is just… urgh – so by the time Dean’s lathered up the last of the warm water disappears, proving once again that the myth about cold showers and erections is just that, a myth.

Dean glares at his cock, silently telling it to stop being such a perv and at least try and imagine someone with bigger boobs and… _not Sam!_ It gives an apologetic twitch and conjures an image of that chick on Lost in his head. He takes care of it quickly and quietly and when he comes with a shudder he feels satisfied that at least he’s not totally twisted like his brother. Who probably did imagine Dean when he was in here earlier taking his own shower, stroking away while… Dean’s own cock does an extra twitch, spurting happily, and he groans in defeat.

God, this is so fucked up.

They have to find a solution right the fuck now and get rid off Sam’s girl part. And thank God he’s not talking about the physical kind. Once Sam’s back to normal everything else will sort itself out. It’s just all the girl talk and the pouting lips with the strawberry lip-gloss not to mention the pink nail polish and all the other chick-shit that’s messing with his head. Obviously his brain is starting to think Sam is a girl too, hopefully an unrelated one, and, seeing as his brain belongs to a healthy young male, more specifically _Dean_ , it’s sending his dick the completely wrong signals. Not his fault. At all.

Almost reassured Dean wraps the only remaining towel around his waist and takes a deep breath before cautiously opening the bathroom door and peeping out. The room is empty.

“Sam!”

Dammit! Can’t he take his eyes off the little shit for five freaking minutes without him doing something stupid like leaving the motel room dressed like a goddamn hooker?

Dean throws the wet towel aside and stalks over to his duffel bag. Fuck. Ripped jeans, bloody jeans, smelling-like-a-sewer jeans. Seems like Sam cut up his last good clean pair. Great. That’s just fucking great. Guess it’s back to the now cold and damp ones he slept in. No clean underwear either and with a smirk he steals a pair from Sam’s bag. They’re white and hug him in all the right places while still leaving plenty of room for… growth.

Dean pauses with his hand down the front, in the middle of adjusting his precious family jewels. Seriously, how much room does Sam need? These are just… His brain does that disturbing image flash thing again and he has to blink and shake his head to get rid of them. This is not the time to contemplate the size of Sam’s equipment. Actually there is never the proper time for such thinking but with his brother on the loose, dressed like a gigantic male version of Christina Aguilera singing _Candyman_ , he definitely shouldn’t be wasting valuable minutes fondling his dick in Sam’s underwear.

Grimacing he pulls on his jeans and a more or less clean t-shirt before shoving his bare feet into his boots, grabbing the keys off the table and storming out. The Impala is still faithfully stationed in the parking lot so at least Sam hasn’t gone too far. He’s not at the picnic table or at the small playground to the far right of the motel. He might have decided to go to the library or the ice cream shop or… Where the hell does a thirteen-year-old girl go in a shitty little town like this?

Setting his lips in a straight line Dean stalks to the car and is about to get in and drive to the diner when he hears a loud shriek and he’s across the parking lot, running toward the motel’s reception in a matter of seconds. He slams the door open to find Sam backed into the corner, the jerk from the counter leaning into him. He’s got one hand flattened on the wall beside Sam’s head, the other cupping his groin.

“Stop it! I told you I don’t want…”

“Now don’t be like tha-“

That’s as far as the fucker gets before Dean grabs his shoulder, swings him around and buries a tight fist right in the middle of that butt-ugly face. “You fucking shit!”

The kid stares at him in shock and starts sagging but Dean lands one extra punch in his gut before letting him slide to the floor.

“Dean! Don’t!” Sam grabs his brother by the arms and jerks him back as he’s about to plant his boot in a very special place. “Stop it!”

Dean takes a deep breath and then shakes free. “I’m alright. I’m alright.” He throws the kid’s dazed face a death glare before grabbing Sam’s hand and dragging him out the door. “We’re leaving.”

“Dean, let me go! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just beat up people like that!”

Dean swings around so fast Sam almost falls over in his hurry to step back from his brother’s furious glare.

“I can’t? _I_ can’t!?! Dude, _you_ can’t walk around looking like that! What the hell is wrong with _you?_ You might as well wear a t-shirt that says _‘Rape Me, I’m Yours’_ on the front.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. I could have taken him. He’s like five feet ten.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you? You just stood there, like a scared little girl, Sam. You just let that sicko paw all over you. What the hell?”

Sam blushes at that and averts his eyes. “I panicked, ok? I forgot for a second that I was Sam too. I was just… her. And she got scared, Dean. She _is_ a little girl.” He raises his head and scowls at his brother. “I would have snapped out of it, Dean. You didn’t need to do that.”

“Like hell I didn’t. No one treats my brother like that, I don’t care if you’re thirteen or twenty-three, dude. It’s my job to look out for you and that includes making sure you’re not molested by some horny little assholes, ok?”

Sam swallows. “Yeah. Ok. Are you…” His lip wobbles. “Are you mad at me, Dean?”

Dean sighs. “No. Yes. Maybe a little. What the hell were you doing in there anyway? You freaked me out, disappearing like that.”

“I was just asking if he could change a five dollar bill. I needed it for the vending machine. I wanted – I wanted a diet Coke.” Sam’s breath hitches and then his eyes fill with tears. “I didn‘t mean to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”

“Oh hell. Please just… don’t start crying again.”

“I’m not crying!” Sam blubbers, wiping angrily at his eyes. “I just hate when you’re mad at me, Dean. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be what you want me to be, to make you like me and I can’t… I can’t, Dean!”

He breaks down sobbing and that’s it, Dean can’t take it anymore. He drags Sam into the room and slams the door behind them before pushing him to sit down on the bed. He runs one hand over his face and gazes down at his brother’s shaking form in exasperation. His hand reaches out in comfort before he realizes what he’s doing and he snatches it away, showing both hands into the pockets of his jeans. _Don’t. Go. There._

“Sam, I know you’re confused and not sure how to be or act but this? I can’t do this. You have to remember who you are and… just be Sam. I need you to be Sam.”

“I am! I’m just…” The bowed head drops even further.

“Sam, listen to me. You can’t dress like that and you can’t wear lipstick and… And you have to stop crushing on me. Please.”

Sam’s head snaps up, his eyes red from tears and hard with anger. “That’s not fair! You think it’s that easy? I mean, sure I can dress like a guy but… I can’t just turn off all these feelings, just like that. I’m a girl and I want to be pretty and wear nice clothes and I want you to like me and maybe then you’ll kiss me and-”

“Sam, listen to yourself. You’re _not_ a _girl_. You’re a man. And you’re my brother. My _brother_ , Sam!”

Dean sits down heavily on the other bed, shaking his head. “And seriously, how can you think I don’t like you? I like you, Sam. Hell, I fucking love you but if you don’t stop doing what you’ve been doing I’m gonna start liking you a little too much. You might think you want that now but this spell, or whatever it is, is gonna wear off soon and what then? What then, Sam? What the hell am _I_ supposed to do _then?_ ”

His voice is rising and he stands abruptly up and walks to the window, turning his back on Sam. There’s silence for a long time and then Sam whispers, “You think it’s just the spell making me feel this way about you? Is that what you think?”

Dean closes his eyes warily. The world hates him. There is no other explanation for this. “C’mon, Sam. You telling me you used to doodle my name in your notebook before this happened? With the little hearts and butterflies? Chyeah right.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Dean’s eyes snap open and he slowly turns around, staring at Sam who’s gazing at him with a flushed face. “What?”

“Maybe not with hearts and butterflies but my notebooks in college were filled with your name. I would have done it in high school too but I was afraid you’d see it.”

Oh God. “Sam, don’t. You don’t have to…”

“I’m not lying! I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old, Dean. Fourteen!”

He stares at Sam, his mind frozen. This is too much. This… no. No.

Sam is watching him, anger turning into worry that turns into fear and he slowly gets up from the bed. “Please, Dean. Say something. Please.” He starts crying again, stumbling forward until he’s standing in front of Dean, looking impossibly young. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. Dean?”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam… you’re my baby brother. This is wrong. It’s the spell, messing with your memories or something.”

“No. Don’t say that! It’s not the spell, it’s just me. It’s just _me_ , Dean. Don’t you get it? I love you.”

“No.” Dean steps back, still shaking his head in denial. “I would have known. You would have said something.”

Sam’s jaw goes tight, his eyes hardening. “You know what? You’re right. You should have known. Why didn’t you? You never noticed anything. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t care!”

He’s shaking with anger, hands clenched into fists by his side and Dean fights the urge to take another step back. He has a feeling Sam the thirteen year old girl wouldn’t fight fair. Chances are there would be hair pulling and possibly biting. “Sam, calm down.”

“No!” Sam stamps down his foot, which should look ridiculous, but it makes Dean’s heart clench because this is so much _not_ Sam and the kid doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing, it’s all the fucking spell.

“No, I won’t calm down, Dean. You wanted to know why I never said anything? Because I knew you’d do this. That you’d look at me like I was some sick pervert.”

Sam’s eyes fill once again with tears and he turns away and flings himself down on the bed. He buries his face in his pillow, wrapping his long arms around it and clutches it tight. “I knew you’d hate me. I _knew_ it! I never should have said anything. I’m so _stupid_ ,” he hiccups and his shoulders start shaking again.

Dean stands frozen, staring at Sam. God, this is all so fucked up. How did they get here? What the hell is he supposed to do? His whole body is screaming at him to walk over to Sam and pull him into his arms. To hold him and comfort him and _‘kiss him until he can’t breathe. Come on, you know you want to.’_

And that is exactly why he can’t. It’s not right. It’s not _right!_

But what if Sam is telling the truth? What if he’s actually had these feelings for the last nine years? Jesus! That’s… God! And why _hadn’t_ Dean noticed? Sure, he’d caught Sam staring at him and following him around but that’s the way he always was. Just the usual hero-worshiping Sam had shown for Dean since he was old enough to say his name.

And yeah, so there had come the time when Sam had turned shy and didn’t want to be hugged or cuddled anymore but Dean attributed that to him becoming a teenager and being uncomfortable in his own skin, the way all teenagers are. Dean read parental columns, he watched Oprah. Hell, he’d gone through the same thing a few years earlier. He knew what it was like and he hadn’t pushed Sam, just respected his need for privacy. Kept away when Sam wanted him to and been there, ready for him, the few times he’d come to Dean for comfort. –It was something that happened less and less as he grew older. And then Sam and Dad started fighting all the time and Dean had pulled himself away, unable to pick sides like they both seemed to expect him to do.

But he’d never even considered… And why should he have? It’s not exactly normal teenage behavior, crushing on your sibling. He can’t remember Oprah ever discussing that in any of her ‘troubled teens’ features and he’s sure he would remember! Nothing in his education, school or street wise, prepared him for how to handle this. What to do if your brother turns into a teenage girl and confesses he/she has loved you in a very un-brotherly way for years? And even more importantly, what to do when you realize that instead of being disgusted you really, really, really want to take him in your arms and kiss the hell out of him?

Which brings Dean to his part in this. Did he do something, when they were growing up, to encourage this? Had he acted in a way that made Sam think he was open to the possibility, that maybe it was ok to want your brother that way? Was this whole thing his fault? And now, what about now? Can he really let Sam suffer like this, thinking he’s the only one struggling when in fact Dean is no better off? So he might not have been pining after Sam for the last nine years but he has a feeling he will be for the next. It’s like a fire in his stomach, this longing he suddenly feels for Sam. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t get to touch him. He wants to grab Sam and kiss him and fucking devour him. Feel those hard muscles under his hands, taste the sweat of Sam’s skin, hear him moan his name as they…

Oh God. He’s so screwed.

“Sam. Will you please look at me? Please?”

Sam lifts his head slowly. His face is wet and puffy, eyes red-rimmed and glittering, and he’s biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Dean walks over and sits on the bed opposite, then reaches out to brush the tangles of sweat-damp hair from his brother’s forehead.

“Ok, listen. Listen, Sam. I don’t know if what you’re feeling is from the spell or not but I can’t take that chance. Not just because you’re my brother but because she’s thirteen, Sam. Thirteen years old. Which means that if these are her feelings they’re a child’s feelings and I could never act on that.”

“But…”

“No. Let me finish. Please. We will find a way to break the spell, Sam, and when we do you will be back to your normal self. Well, as normal as you can get,” he adds with a wink, relieved to see Sam scowling in outrage. “And then… if you still feel this way, _then_ we can talk about it. Ok?”

Sam slowly pulls himself up until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, gazing at Dean with a spark of hope in his eyes. “Really? You mean that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Sam.”

“Because I _will_ , I will still feel this way, I _know_ I will. And you…” He hesitates. “Does this mean you feel something too? You don’t hate me?”

Dean takes a deep breath and then moves over to sit beside his brother, pulling him into a hug. “No, I don’t hate you, Sam. Dude, you know that.” He swallows before continuing. “And maybe I do feel something but I can’t allow myself to even consider it, not when you’re like this. Ok, Sam? Do you understand why?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m thirteen. I’m not stupid,” Sam snorts and Dean can’t help smiling.

“You’re anything but stupid. In fact I’m sure you’re the smartest thirteen year old girl I’ve ever met.”

“And prettiest too?”

“Don’t push it.” Sam turns the puppy eyes on him and he relents with a sigh. “Ok, yes. Definitely the prettiest. Happy now?”

“Yes!” Sam throws his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “You’re the best brother in the whole wide world!”

“I know.” Dean allows him to hold on a little longer before pushing him gently away. “Now take off those clothes and wash your face. We’ve got research to do.”

Sam pouts. “Can’t I keep the t-shirt at least?”

“Sam…”

“Please?”

Oh hell. “At least undo the knot. Seriously, Sam, no one wears them like that. Not even thirteen year old girls. Especially not thirteen year old girls. And you owe me a new pair of jeans.”

“Ooh, can we go shopping? The girls at the diner said-”

“No!”

\---------------

In the end it’s ridiculously simple. Dean convinces Sam that even though, yes, it is embarrassing, they still should try and see if any of their contacts knows anything. After listening to both Pastor Jim and Joshua just laugh hysterically as Dean explains the situation to them, Bobby finally comes up with a solution. Seems the same thing happened to a friend of his some years back and turns out it was a simple 48 hour spell some disgruntled girl had laid on him for blowing her off. Chances are the spell was meant for Dean, since Sam hasn’t so much as talked to girls unless it’s related to their work, and it somehow misfired. Whoever it was and for whatever reason, the spell should wear off soon enough.

 _“Just keep him away from any bad boys that might be around. And malls. Poor Johnny boy woke up with plucked eyebrows and wearing nothing but pink.”_

“Sure. Thanks, Bobby. I’ll… Wait. When you say Johnny, you don’t mean…?”

 _“Gotta go, son. You take care off that brother of yours.”_

“Bobby?” There’s a click and Dean’s left staring at the phone in his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean jerks out of his daze to find Sam staring at him in worry. No. His life is bizarre enough without adding that to the already disturbing images in his head. “Nothing. Bobby thinks it should wear off tomorrow morning. All we have to do is wait.”

“Ok. Good.” Sam closes the laptop and leans back on the bed. “Dean?” he asks after a moments silence, voice somewhat hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“Do you like her better than me?”

“What?”

“The girl. Do you like her better than me? And I don’t mean in a romantic way,” he adds hastily, cheeks flushing. “Just… you know.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean shakes his head. “Dude, she listens to Justin Timberlake!”

Sam laughs, his cheeks reddening further. “Yeah. That’s true. Even I’m horrified by that.”

“Must admit though,” Dean says after a while. “I like how happy she makes you. It’s good to hear you laugh, Sam. I’ve missed that.”

Sam looks down, smile slipping away. “Yeah. Guess I’ve not been too good company. Sorry.”

“Sam, don’t. I’m not blaming you, dude. You lost the woman you loved. It’s tough stuff. I just wish… You can talk to me, you know? If you want to.”

“I know. And I will. Some day.” Sam hitches his breath and then looks up with a small smile, blinking his tears away. “Some day when I don’t burst out crying every five minutes.”

Dean smiles back. “Gotta say, man. You are one emotional girl. You know I’m gonna mock you forever once this is over, right?”

“I know. Jackass.”

“Hey, just be glad I didn’t take any pictures of you in that outfit. I bet your friends at Stanford would love to hear what you’ve been up to.”

“Shut up.”

Dean smiles and stands up, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. He catches Sam staring at the sliver of skin showing between his shirt and jeans but he doesn’t comment on it. Not like he hasn’t been checking Sam out at every opportunity. Seriously, how can he not? That t-shirt is really tight, clinging to his brother’s muscular chest like it’s painted on him. He’s just happy he got Sammy to change pants. If only he can ignore the pink nail polish or the strawberry lip-gloss that Sam refuses to take off, stubbornly claiming he has chapped lips, he’ll be fine.

“Come on, little brother. Let’s go see if those puppy eyes can score us another free dessert at the diner.”

“Ok!” Sam jumps up from the bed. “I want spaghetti. Think I can get spaghetti? And a big soda!”

“Whatever you want, Sam. Whatever you want.”

The rest of the day is spent enjoying the rare break from hunting. After they finish off a huge lunch with waffles ‘on the house’ Dean lets Sam drag him to the pond to feed the ducks. He doesn’t even object when Sam slips a hand into his as they sit on a small bench, watching the birds fight over the few crumbs of bread they had saved from the diner. Sam names the ducks after the members of the Backstreet Boys, except for the one that keeps stealing bread from the others. That one he names Dawn, and laughs when Dean shoos it away.

When they walk back to the motel Sam still clings to Dean’s hand like he’s afraid of letting go, and Dean must admit, despite the awkwardness, that it’s kinda nice. Sam has big and warm hands and the contrast to when they were younger, with Sam’s small hand clutched in Dean’s own, makes him feel oddly nostalgic, in a reverse kinda way. He can’t help wondering what it would have been like, growing up as the younger brother, with always someone there to look out for him. Not that Dad didn’t care for him, it’s just…

“You alright?”

He looks up to find Sam watching him and gives him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m cool.”

Sam nods thoughtfully and squeezes his hand. “Everything’s gonna be ok, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head and forces a grin. “That’s my line, kiddo.”

“Yeah, well… I’m a klepto, remember?” Sam elbows him playfully. “I’m stealing it.”

“Talking about that… Is that her or you? Because I don’t remember you being a shoplifter. They teach you that at Stanford?”

Sam blushes and ducks his head. “Yeah, kinda.”

“What?”

“Don’t be mad! I ran out of the money you gave me within three months. It was either that or hustling, and I don’t mean pool. Don’t worry,” he adds at Dean’s shocked look. “I got a job a month later, waiting tables. No more stealing.”

“Huh.” Dean rubs the back of Sam’s hand with his thumb. “You never said anything. I would have sent you more.”

“You never asked,” Sam pouts. “And then you stopped calling.”

“Because you stopped picking up.”

“Because…!” Sam stops and bites his lip. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, Sam. It’s cool, I get it. You wanted a new life and I wasn’t part of that.” Dean shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

“That’s not why…” Sam stops and tugs at Dean’s hand until he turns to face him. His eyes are heavy with guilt and Dean can hardly remember him looking so young.

“It hurt too much, ok? I missed you too much, Dean. I was alone and you weren’t there and… whenever we hung up I felt like crying and I just wanted to come home. So I stopped picking up because I thought it would be easier. And then you stopped calling and...” He swallows. “It wasn’t. It just hurt more.”

Dean hesitates. However much he wants to he can’t with a good conscience take advantage of Sam’s emotional state. Not when he isn’t really himself. “You could have called me,” he says cautiously, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal out of his voice. “It’s not a one-way street, Sam.”

“I know! But I thought you’d be mad and… The longer I waited the harder it got and then I met Jessica and I just…” Sam looks away. “I let you go. I’m sorry.”

Dean sighs. “I wasn’t the one trying to get away.”

“No, but if you’d known how I felt about you…”

“No. Don’t turn this on me, man. You don’t know what would have happened. Hell, _I_ don’t even know what I would have done.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair, the reality of the situation catching up with him. “I still don’t, I mean now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Sam.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Sam says with a confident nod. “I know you will. You’re smart like that. And if you don’t…” He swallows and puts on a brave smile. “It’s ok, Dean. I’ll deal.”

Dean gives him a small smile. “Let’s save this for tomorrow, alright?”

Sam looks like he wants to argue but then he bites his lip and nods. “Alright. We still friends, Dean?”

Dean reaches up and ruffles Sam’s hair, laughing as he tries to duck away. “Always, Sammy. You know that.”

“So…” Sam grins. “Race you to the playground!”

He takes off and is halfway across the street before Dean even realizes what’s happening. Cursing he runs after Sam. The kid’s got legs like a giraffe but Dean has better stamina and by the time they reach the swings he’s cut a couple of feet ahead. Sam laughs happily and tackles him down on the grass where they roll a few rounds before collapsing on their backs, staring up at the darkening sky as they try to catch their breath.

“I miss this,” Sam finally says. “Me and you. Just goofing around.”

“Yeah.” Dean closes his eyes. The grass is soft and the air is still warm enough to make the gentle breeze feel soothing on their hot faces. “Being grown up sucks. Enjoy your girl while you have her.”

There’s a short silence and then they both burst out laughing.

“I did not mean it like that!”

“You so did!”

“Shut up.”

\-------------

Sam falls asleep with his head in Dean’s lap again and Dean leaves him be until he feels his own eyes start drooping. Then he slips from under Sam and undresses, making sure the door is locked and his knife is under the pillow before he lies down in his own bed. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning on his side, facing Sam. Sam’s eyes glitter in the moonlight, wide open. They gaze at each other in silence for a long time and then Dean throws the covers aside and crosses the space between them, sliding in beside his brother. They don’t say anything, Sam just curls up with one arm across Dean’s chest, his nose nuzzled into Dean’s neck. He’s asleep within minutes. Dean lies awake, breathing in the presence of Sam, feeling his heart beat next to his own.

Tomorrow things will hopefully be back to normal and Sam won’t be a needy little girl any more. And that other thing… It will in all likelihood be gone as well. Whatever Sam says, chances are it’s just the spell messing with his head. Dean should be relieved. And he is, he is.

He will be. Whatever this tension in his gut is trying to tell him, he will be.

\------------

For once he’s awake before Sam. Awake and showered and dressed, sipping coffee from the diner as he watches Sam sleep. It’s late when Sam finally wakes up, already an hour past the time limit, and Dean holds his breath while Sam groggily blinks against the morning sun.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Sam sits up and runs one hand sleepily through his hair. “I had the strangest dream.”

Dean tenses. “Yeah?”

“I don’t remember much. But for some reason I have Justin Timberlake stuck on my brain.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Dean says and shifts in his chair. There’s a hollow feeling in his stomach and his throat is dry and hurting. It’s only ten in the morning but he’s suddenly aching for a beer.

“Not really. I felt happy.” Sam pauses in the middle of scratching his nose and stares at his hand. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I wearing pink nail polish?”

“You got drunk,” Dean answers curtly and stands up. “There were girls. I don’t know. It was silly.”

“Huh.” Sam frowns. “I don’t remember. I feel weird though. How come you’re not wearing any?” he adds after a moment.

“I never said _I_ was drunk.” Dean forces on a grin. “In fact I had to carry your drunken ass home.”

“Really?” Sam looks puzzled, like he’s fighting to remember, but then he shrugs and offers Dean a shy smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. Hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Dean grabs his duffel bag and starts throwing in his clothes. “We should get going.”

“Ok. Just give me a sec.”

Dean keeps his back turned as Sam gets out of bed and sleepily makes his way into the bathroom. He waits until he hears the door close behind him before letting his shoulders sag. So that’s it. They’re back to normal. That’s… good. It’s the way it should be.

He’s so caught up in not letting himself feel anything that he doesn’t hear the bathroom door open again, doesn’t pay any attention until there’s suddenly a palm on his shoulder and he’s being turned around. Big hands cradle his face and then Sam is kissing him. His lips are soft but firm and he waits patiently until Dean parts his lips with a soft sigh, inviting Sam to slip his tongue inside.

Dean hadn’t allowed himself to even imagine what it would feel like but now, when it’s actually happening, it surpasses whatever his brain could have conjured anyway. Sam kisses with the same commitment as he shows to research and by the time he pulls back Dean is panting, his pupils wide-blown and dark as he stares into Sam’s eyes.

“I remember. And it wasn’t the spell,” Sam says, before adding with a hint of anxiety, “Can we talk now?”

Dean draws in a deep breath and as he lets it out it’s like the weight of the world just lifted from his shoulders.

“We can talk later,” he answers and is treated to the sight of Sam’s face splitting into a wide smile, crowfeet dancing at the corners of his eyes, and then they’re kissing again.

At the edge of Sam’s mouth Dean can taste the faintest trace of strawberry.

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this whole thing came about because I was grinning to myself about how often the words "When did you turn into a thirteen (or twelve or whatever) year old girl?" come up in fic when suddenly in my head I heard Sam answering "About five minutes ago." Which made me giggle because I'm simple like that. But then I started joking about it with some people on my flist and they were evil enough to encourage me and so this is what happens. Pink crack with a sidedish of glitter. Sam sounds totally schizo at times but remember, he has basically two people in his head, himself and the girl, and even if the girl is emotionally more overwhelming, Sam the guy isn't completely drowned out. Seriously, I hope this made sense. Or that at least it made you laugh.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pretty in Pink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683966) by [felisblanco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco)




End file.
